


Lament of the Secondborn

by themapples



Category: Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014)
Genre: F/M, Incest, One-Sided Attraction, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:12:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5548655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themapples/pseuds/themapples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's not the fair-haired maidens he fancies, my Lord."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lament of the Secondborn

\--- Rodrik ---

This corner of the Forrester stronghold was graciously quiet and undisturbed from the bustling taking place a floor beneath them in the kitchens and great hall. Rodrik was never one to take interest nor find great importance in learning the vast webs of relationships and connections around the Wolfswood, so he was pleased to have found a tranquil nook in Ironrath. Glancing back down at the sturdy textbook in his lap, however, the Forrester heir was reminded of the mundane reason he sought solitude in the first place. As much as he tried to distance himself from any distraction, a young man of fourteen years could only summon so much will to study before surrendering to fatigue and boredom.

A small cough from off to his right showed Mira, small in her chair, deep in concentration as she found greater success within the pages of her own book than her older brother in his.

Some tiny flecks of dust floated about the room, the muted workings of the house servants underneath were barely heard through the doors and floors. Rodrik was one resigned breath away from returning his wandering attention back to his studies when the door opened to reveal a breathless Asher shuffling in, shutting the door behind him in a very hasty manner.

Rodrik was prepared to demand an explanation for his brother's sudden appearance and possibly give a stern, fatherly chastising as older siblings were wont to do, but his thoughts were interrupted at the sight of the steaming dessert carried in the boy's hands.

"No one was supposed to be here!" the blonde Forrester whined. 

"Where did you get that pie, Asher?" Rodrik asked, putting on his best imitation of an adult tone. Finally at the mention of pie, Mira lifted her head to the scene.

"It's from our kitchen, so don't worry," he answered quickly and effortlessly.

"That's the special pie, though, because we have guests today," a voice chirped in. Rodrik looked over at Mira. For a nine-year-old, she knew her dessert etiquette.

"Put it back, Asher. Soon, before anyone comes looking for it." The elder Forrester supposed that something like a pie would not raise the alarm for any more than one or two chefs in the kitchen, but he certainly did not want to risk his parents noticing the lack of "specialty pie" on the dinner table tonight and bring their wrath upon their guilty-eyed children.

"Come on, Rodrik, they can just make another one. I never get more than a leftover bite from Mother's plate. We never get to have pies!"

"That's true! Rodrik! The adults always get the fancy sweets to themselves. They dont' even enjoy it like we do!" Mira added earnestly.

Rodrik sighed at his sister's comments as they rang true in his memory of past guest invitations. And the fruit pie did smell particularly alluring as it was presented within his reach in Asher's hands. Rodrik made his siblings wait another few seconds as if to demonstrate his deep contemplation of his decision before relaxing his shoulders and nodding his head. The two younger Forresters exclaimed in relief until their older brother brought attention to a certain missing utensil needed to efficiently divvy up their prize.

"Were you going to eat the pie with your bare hands?"

Asher thought for a moment, then started leaving for the kitchen. Before he reached the door, however, he raced back to his siblings and placed the treasured dessert in their care, then promptly sped off to find the suitable tools to reap the rewards of his misdeeds.

"Silly," Rodrik said to himself as he and his sister awaited their brother's return with the key to the pie.

  


\--- Gwyn ---

Amply intimidating by day, the Wolfswood was doubly ominous and foreboding when shrouded in night. Without the lit sky to outline the tops of the looming trees, the wood seemed to grow infinitely up into the darkness. Rolling fog gave it a breath all its own.

A shrill whistle mimicking a bird's call pierced the air. A beat passed, but no response. The whistle called again, longer and insistent, but again, no return.

"Damn you, Asher," a young woman cursed under her breath. She stepped out from behind a wide ironwood trunk to scan for her companion. "I'll not be eaten by wolves for you."

"Aye, but would you- Watch it!"

"Gods damn you!" the woman shouted and swung a back-handed fist at the voice that startled her. 

"Whoa, whoa there, Gwyn!" An amused Asher Forrester stood with his hands defensively before him and straightened up after narrowly dodging his friend's swing. But she would not be assuaged by his attempts to laugh off his tardiness. And she held no doubt that he purposefully sneaked behind her to catch her off guard.

The Whitehill daughter threw another moment's death glare at the cheeky man and simply began marching toward their unofficially staked hideout. They had wasted enough of the night already.

\---

"Of course now you choose to show your face, oh Madame Moon!" Gwyn shouted to the heavens that had earlier forsaken her to the darkness.

"Madame?" came a snort from her left.

"You are just pathetic," she said with disgust as Asher spat a bit of his drink over his chest and hands. "Give it here. No, wipe it off first."

"Just settle your tits, will you?" he shot back while seemingly smearing the mess around instead of clearing it up. Gwyn tried reaching over to reclaim the bottle of wine before her companion could further spill more of its contents, but Asher jerked his arm away to keep the bottle in his possession. She knocked him in the shoulder at that, and he finally relinquished it to her, bringing his attention back to the task of drying his tunic off.

A swig of wine later, Gwyn sighed contentedly and rested her head back upon the fallen tree they were sitting against. The crescent of silver in the velvet azure caught her eye once more. She giggled shamelessly to herself at her abnormally poetic thoughts. Her cheeks were blooming from the effects of the wine for certain now. She giggled again, this time a decidedly unladylike snort of her own came out.

"What? What is it?" The annoyance in Asher's voice reminded Gwyn of little insistent birdlings waiting to be fed. She took another long swig of the earthy wine then handed it back to her drinking partner's sticky hand, resigned to the fact that he would finish off the remaining quarter of the bottle before she could complain otherwise.

"Do you know the story with Florian and Jonquil and the moon?" she asked while taking effort to control her bursts of laughter.

"Are you asking me to be your Florian? Is that it?" he teased, nudging Gwyn's side with his elbow.

"No..."

"Didn't he spy on her bathing?"

"No! Well-"

"Get to it, then!" he insisted. Her cheeks fully rosy by this point, Gwyn shoved the Forrester boy with a playful yet no less impactful jab.

"What I mean is," she started, her eyes becoming lidded as the euphoria of wine washed over her, "would you chase after the moon if a girl asked you to?" Her voice became wistful then, her mind playing with thoughts of some faceless young man hunting down stars in order to win her favor.

"Only a fool would try to chase the moon. What does that even mean?" he said.

"That's the thing, isn't it? Florian is a fool."

"Exactly."

"A fool and a knight, though," she specified, contemplating the intricacies of the story of Florian and Jonquil for the first time in all her sixteen years.

"And that Jonquil! Only a girl struck dumb would ask for something so idiotic. They are both fools."

Gwyn was slightly taken aback by the certainty with which Asher asserted his opinion on the matter. "I suppose," she conceded. The warm buzz of the wine began to lift from her, and she was content to sit in what passed for silence in the Wolfswood when Asher muttered something that she missed.

"What's that?" She had closed her eyes and leaned her head back again.

"I said," Asher's tone suddenly urgent and angry, "why do people want things they cannot have?"

Gwyn turned and stared at her friend and supposed bitter enemy. His brow furrowed in thought at this apparent fatal flaw of humankind.

How strange of him to take such offense to a mere story- Ah... He would surely have hit her if he saw the smirk that formed on her full lips right then. Gwyn turned her gaze back up to the gleaming sliver in the sky.

"Hmm," was her only response.

Her boy was smitten.

  


\--- Ethan ---

"I don't like it when he is like that," she said.

"Hmm?" Ethan had yet to lift his head and turn his attention from the lute in his hand.

"When he's angry and- Oh no, he's going to hit that boy, isn't he?" A soft hand grasped at Ethan's arm and squeezed expectantly. Ethan raised his eyes, prepared to meet the mirrored aqua gaze of his twin sister looking back at him, but he found her staring off into the courtyard ahead of them.

So focused he was on tuning his beloved lute, Ethan only then noticed the scene that developed on the other end of the yard.

Asher, clearly ruffled, indeed seemed ready to lash out. He loomed over a younger boy, a friend of Mira's by the way she kept walking between them as if to deflect her brother's wrath. Asher's voice reached the two Forrester twins across the courtyard as it intensified with his every other step. Mira's acquaintance, however, appeared in no position to confront nor assuage his aggressor.

"It's a little frightening, sometimes," Talia admitted quietly.

Ethan recalled a time in which his older brother pummelled another boy on his behalf. He could not even remember exactly what the boy did to warrant such a punishment, but he pictured quite clearly the blood that splattered on the ground. And a few hard bits that he later discovered were teeth. Talia became his main source of friendship following all of that.

"ASHER!" But Mira's desperate call was not enough to stop the blind force that was the second Forrester son.

Talia winced and glanced away. The blood was not visible from such a distance, but Ethan heard his father's thunderous reprimands upon his arrival to the scene as finely as his twin sister's gasp to his left. 

"Come," he ordered gently, taking Talia's hand in his and leading her around the side of the castle to a less active part of Ironrath.

  


\--- Ryon ---

Times were rarely slow in Ironrath, so Ryon found great pleasure during the few occasions when he and his siblings could afford to play games together.

Asher insisted on Riverbed Stones even after Mira pointed out how he'd always win at it. Unfortunately for her, Ryon agreed with his brother and the three of them set up the pieces.

Ryon had been practicing with the elder Forrester son, and he felt confident in dethroning the reigning champion today. But his siblings kept him on his toes. Mira contemplated her moves the longest, taking the time to plan her strategies. Asher, however, organized stones and captured pieces with a swiftness that made the others suspect he could read their minds.

The game neared its end, and Ryon was proud to see his victory was quite possible. Mira’s stone piles were dwindling and vulnerable to being overtaken. Asher looked about at his opponents’ stones, spending more time thinking during this turn than any other. Wait. Ryon sighed in resignation as he watched his brother plan his move. If Asher claimed their sister's piles, he would take her out of the game and have enough stones to win the riverbed. It was obvious that there was still much to learn about the game, Ryon thought.

“What? Why?” he asked in confusion as he witnessed his stones being claimed by his brother. That strange play forced Asher to split his piles into smaller amounts and allowed Mira’s now considerable piles to overtake them. She stood and celebrated loudly at her brother's misstep.

Ryon sat and stared sadly at the game pieces. Asher was clear to win. He must have known that his last move would have stretched his reserves too thin, right? It looked like the champion was overthrown, but by Mira instead.

But his brother didn't appear as disappointed as when he lost to Rodrik in other games. In fact, he seemed to be smiling and sharing in Mira’s victory. Maybe she should play with them more often if it meant Ryon had better chances at defeating Asher.

He gathered the pieces and started packing them away while his older sister ran about telling the news of how she bested the king. Asher remained on the floor with Ryon, watching her as she ran down the hall.

  


\--- Mira ---

In the spring during the day when the sun shined through and birds actually called, the nearby wood almost felt like a friend or a neighbor that the Foresters lived alongside. Sometimes the wood felt safe. And today on the twins’ nameday, the Forrester children entered the forest with a lightness in their hearts.

Mira laughed as Ryon charged past the trees, Ethan and Talia close on his trail. Asher gave the group a few seconds before eagerly chasing after them. Rodrik’s friend Elaena joined them that day in the festivities, and Mira gladly allowed the older girl to take her hand as they ran into the forest. Rodrik himself was left behind to catch them all once they settled into proper hiding places.

The wood was home to such towering trees and such thick brush, Mira soon got separated from Elaena, and only the echoing chimes of birds accompanied her. In the blackness of night, she would have been afraid, but here in the light of the sun on a joyful occasion, she felt at ease.

Mira paused where she stood. The birds had stopped their sounds moments ago.

A rustling from behind her washed away the previous feelings of peace and struck fear in its place. A hefty weight barreled into her and large arms surrounded her. Mira cried out, but the struggle to free herself barely required any exertion on her part. She turned around to see Asher with an ungodly smirk on his face.

“You are terrible!” she scolded, hitting him lightly on the arm. But his smile had crept its way onto her own lips as she found her annoyance forgotten.

“Let's go, Rodrik will find us soon,” he said and led her deeper into the trees.

They walked for a while, happy and talking. Mira used to think her brother simply had a thirst for trouble, poking his nose wherever it would frustrate their father the most. But as they all grew older and she became more observant of the workings of her house, it seemed as though trouble was prone to ensnaring itself onto Asher like brambles on a wild boar. She stifled a laugh at the comparison.

“Now what are you finding so funny, Lady Mira?” he asked coolly.

“Nothing at all, _my Lord,_ ” she teased. They smiled easily, and things felt just right again.

It was some time before Asher spoke, “Do you remember when you were little, and you'd hold onto only my last two fingers because you couldn't grasp my whole hand?”

“Yes, I do. Are you going to make fun of me for it again?”

“Well, Mira, I thought you'd grow them out by now,” he suggested plainly, but she could see the teasing in his face.

“What are you talking about, they're normal sized. See?” She stepped closer and held her palm between them for him to inspect. Asher reached up and was just about to grasp the underside of her wrist when Mira suddenly decided to pinch his nose instead.

“Hey!”

She ran off, glancing back over her shoulder as he raced after her. Her squeals rang free into the woods, daring him to catch her, but the chase ended soon enough as Mira had not planned on evading him for long, and he was certainly quick on his feet.

Asher caught up and held her close. She was all smiles as those small hands of hers sat lightly on his chest. It was warm and safe there in his arms and reminded her of simpler times in the castle.

Mira looked up at her brother, but his own smile had faded. He seemed distracted, lost in that big, silly blonde head as he stared at her.

“What is it?” she asked softly as she caught her breath, concern creeping into the edges of her words.

Asher gently, almost hesitantly cupped her face and searched across her features for something unknown.

While she was close to all of her siblings, Mira felt the slightest scratching of unease, like a single droplet hanging on the back of her neck that threatened to roll down but would deny her the relief.

He was so quiet. The woods were too silent, suffocating.

“Look! A shooting star!” she blurted and glanced past Asher.

Mira pointed at something behind him, and he finally turned around.

“That flower, it's called a Shooting Star because of how the vine weaves up and around.” A large, blooming white flower peeked out from a tree branch ahead of the two Forresters. “They're rare in the spring, you know.” Mira looked over at her brother, he'd yet to answer.

“Do you see it? Up there?” She had just reached for his arm when he spoke.

“Rare, you say?” And he ran towards the tree and started climbing up its trunk.

“Asher! What in the Gods’ name are you doing?” Mira stood by in worry as he scrambled up the tree, branch by branch, to the little flower. He slipped once or twice, and she would call out to him each time, but let no man say Asher Forrester was not determined.

He eventually reached the coveted branch and straddled it, hopping over to the flower on his rear like some odd horse rider.

“Be careful!” Mira repeated between giggles. But Asher had the flower in hand and was in the process of climbing back down. Now with the delicate bloom in tow, the descent proved much more challenging, however, and the young man slipped and fell to the ground with enough force and curses to spook the birds.

Mira ran over to him, all tangled in himself and the brush.

“Are you alright?!” She didn't know where to even begin looking, but Asher merely pulled himself onto an elbow and rubbed his head. He groaned as he righted himself, and in his other hand, he presented the miraculously intact shooting star to Mira.

“Oh, you're a fool, Asher,” she chastised him, but couldn't help the smile on her face. What a pitiful sight her brother was.

He sat up with a wince, rubbed his lower back, and tucked the flower behind Mira’s ear. His fingers lingered, and she felt the tips of them run down the side of her neck, almost tickling, as he pushed her hair around to the other shoulder.

Mira recognized the Asher that climbed that tree and came tumbling down with a silly grin. But the one that sat before her then, with the focused, almost sad eyes, was a foreign one that bordered on unnerving. His knuckles gently caressed her cheek, and his thumb moved softly against her skin.

Her mouth parted, she wanted to say something but nothing was suitable. His hand reached the back of her neck and pulled her to him as he leaned closer. His chapped lips were rough on her cheek.

“Aren't you affectionate today…” she whispered, her smile quickly disappearing. His breath fell hot upon her neck, and Mira gripped tightly onto his coat. This was Asher, her older brother, but everything was wrong. They were too close. The birds were too quiet again. He was too quiet. His stubble prickled her, and his lips were wet behind her ear.

“Asher!” Mira pushed him back. Stones sat precariously in her stomach. Everything was _wrong_.

He stared into her eyes then, with hints of hurt lined with shame, and Mira felt something like fright simmering in her chest.

“Mira…” he began, now avoiding her gaze. His hand left her and opted to pick at the leaves on the ground instead. She didn't look away. “Have you ever-”

The sounds of cracking branches under feet alerted them to a third party closing in.

Rodrik appeared from the trees, and Mira was saddened to realize she felt relief at his arrival.

“Now what happened here?” he asked with a smirk, taking in the sight of Asher in a heap on the ground and Mira seated beside him.

\---

“Oh, a shooting star! You were so lucky to have found one,” Talia marveled at the flower in her sister's hair.

“Here, I bestow upon you this star on your nameday.” Mira removed the flower and placed it behind Talia’s ear.

The Forresters and their guest settled into the long dining table. Mira was quick to ask to sit next to her younger sister and Elaena.

She tried not to notice Asher barely touching his food.

  


\--- Gwyn ---

“So who is she?”

“What are you talking about?” 

“This pissy mood. You've been utter shite to be around. So who’s this girl?”

He gave her a look as if spooked by her uncanny deduction.

Gwyn rolled her eyes, “I know because I know! Now are you going to tell me or will I have to get you drunk first?”

Her companion kept silent.

“Is it… that Oliva Bole with the pig nose? Or Merrinde Woods with the temper greater than my own father’s? Perhaps you like them young and sweet like little Nidya Bole?”

“No.” He groaned the long groan of a man who foresaw his defeat before he even stepped foot on the battlefield.

“No? Someone stranger then?”

“Gwyn…”

“You bastard,” she punched him in the arm with enough force to shake him. “You were supposed to tell me about your first visit to a brothel. How was it? Damn good if she got your cock in a twist like this.”

“GWYN! Gods be damned!” Asher held his head in his hands, and Gwyn pitied him quite deeply. Someone had broken her boy. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“What about that girl, Rodrik’s girl, Glenmore?” she offered gently.

“Fucking ridiculous.”

The pair sat in silence as the small fire flickered by their feet. Not a whore, too impersonal. But not one of the daughters from the Deepwood either. And the Glenmore girl, too close, or not close enough? Gwyn snorted softly to herself.

“I hope you don’t mean me,” she murmured from behind her knees, head hung low. She allowed a glance towards Asher and found his brow furrowed and his face tired. He needed drink and wine, but alas, the well had dried up since their last session. Most unfortunate timing.

“What has you troubled, brother?” She had whispered the question to him, but he grit his teeth and visibly flinched at her words all the same.

Gwyn jumped in her seat when Asher suddenly got up, took out a small dagger and flipped it mindlessly in his hand. He then threw it with such power towards the nearest tree that a chip of wood flew out. He marched over to retrieve his knife and repeated the process.

This Asher was so unfamiliar to her. On any other night, they would be brawling by now as a release for his stresses and boiling anger. Gwyn prided herself in how well she was able to hold her own against him when she needed to, but now in the Wolfswood, something haunted her friend, and she knew no cure.

“Is it one of your sisters?”

The dagger flew haphazardly from his hand and hit the tree trunk at an angle, falling with a dull thud to the ground.

“FUCK!” Asher cursed to the heavens, and the sound of birds taking off briefly surrounded them. Gwyn thought the wood not so bearable this night. She watched with worry as the young man of seventeen searched around the tree for his dagger.

It was a joke. She had meant it as a joke, crass and weak, but a mere stoking of the fire. Who would be the absolute worst to have her boy wrapped around their finger like this? Insults like that were commonplace amongst rowdy youths like them, but this time, it was different, wasn’t it?

“Asher,” she began, “Asher!” He swiveled around to her with blazing eyes. She waved him over and motioned for him to retake his seat beside her. He chose instead to pace about like a lion in a cage.

“Listen here, Forrester. I risk feeling my father’s wrath every time I meet up with you in this forsaken place. I do not have time to waste.” He paused in his steps. “Now tell me why you’re acting the fool.”

As seconds passed and Gwyn watched him rage a war in his head, his features transitioned from blind fury to such desperation. When he finally resigned himself to sitting down, she noticed some reflections on his skin. He was damn near breaking into a sweat.

“Gwyn, I…” he barely breathed. She leaned in close, almost wanted to reach a hand out and comfort him, but she didn’t.

“Are you in love with her?” her voice came low and cautious. When he seemed to choke on an answer, she continued. “This girl, you love her?”

“Yes.” His reply came easily, but he sounded exhausted just saying it.

“Does she feel the same?”

“No, I-I don’t know.”

“Why not? What’s stopping you from finding out?” What was this hesitance and fear? Gwyn Whitehill did not know this Asher.

“I can’t.”

“Why in seven hells not? I’m quickly getting tired of your shite.”

“Gwyn, I love my sister.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She stared at him. “Well, of course you do.” She said with such a forced smile. What does he mean? _What does he mean?_

“Of course you love her.” She spoke so softly, like she was comforting the dead.

“I… I want her.”

“Asher…”

“Mira, she’s-”

“Asher Forrester,” she hissed through teeth, and her voice dripped acid, “You will leave her be. You will rid yourself of this foolishness with a whore for a handful of gold, and you will never bring this up again. To anyone. Do you understand me? You will not break your family. You will not touch her. You will hurt no one and tell no one. You will rid yourself of this, Asher Forrester.”

He looked at her, and his eyes gleamed from the firelight. Gwyn stood and headed back to her home. She would not stand to watch him weep.

  


\--- Rosette ---

While the older ones usually came with more experience, the young ones always had a certain enthusiasm about them. This one that Madame just led over to her though was on the cusp of a man, but still followed by the shadows of a boy. He was cute at least.

“I believe Rosette is perfect for your needs,” Madame explained as the gold bangles around her wrist chimed with each movement.

“He looks like a virgin, Madame,” Rosette admitted with a playful smirk. The boy looked her over, followed the swaying of her hips and the set of her breasts, but his gaze always returned to her hair. Ah, so he had a type.

He paid for the whole night, surprising that he had that much gold on him, and she eagerly pulled him into her room. He had that impish, bewildered look that the new ones tended to have, endearing. A caress through the pants always woke them up, but he grabbed her arm and stopped her. Strange.

“I can go slower, love. We have all night,” she winked but he seemed unconvinced. 

Rosette snaked her hand under his shirt and kissed him. He near froze. She smirked against his lips.

\---

He left much earlier than sunrise, and she didn’t bother mentioning the time still due him. When he came calling nights later and requested Rosette with the raven hair and light eyes, she was ready.

  


\--- Elissa ---

“What hangs low in your heart, my dear son?” Lady Forrester caressed her secondborn’s cheek. He was a man no doubt, and he stood taller than her, but in her eyes he would forever be the boy who stole sweets and chased the guard dogs.

Asher looked upon his mother cautiously, but his efforts to disguise the turmoil in his head were no match for a mother’s keen eyes.

“Mother,” he started with a tired sigh, “it is nothing of importance.”

“Your father may be a stern man at times, but he loves you just the same.”

“Yes, I know. I’m fine.”

Lady Forrester ran her hand through her son’s hair, giving it a little tug here and there.

“You have your father’s nose and his eyes, but this thick head of blonde hair is purely my grandmother’s. It’s a sign of stubbornness, but you already knew that.” Her hand returned to her side as she smiled at him.

“Mother,” a light voice called to her. Lady Forrester turned to see Mira approaching. “I was hoping… Oh, I’m sorry,” the girl slowed to a stop when she saw her mother’s company.

Lady Forrester raised a brow ever so slightly when she sensed Asher tensing next to her.

“What is it, darling?” she asked her daughter. Mira seemed oddly flustered as well, a noticeable change from when she first entered the hall.

“I can come back, Mother. Just something small.” And she swiftly walked off, sparing a single glance over her shoulder.

“First you, and now Mira,” Lady Forrester commented, but her son paid no attention, his eyes on his sister as she left. Only when she disappeared around a corner did he acknowledge that his mother had spoken at all. The older woman looked at him curiously.

“Aren’t you a bit old to be picking on her?” She had meant to tease, but the way he paled and his eyes widened, the question had unsettled him much more than it should. He shook his head as if to rid himself of something clawing on his mind.

“I won’t keep you,” he blurted awkwardly and marched off in kind.

Lady Forrester watched her son leave as her daughter did before him. She stood in the great hall of Ironrath, quiet and alone.

  


\--- Gregor ---

Ever by his side, his wife, the mother of his six children stood, but the distress was plain on her face. Before him were a dangerous girl and an utter fool. A headache plagued him this past week, and now this whole farce only stoked the fire.

“My Lord, ple-”

“I don’t know who or _how_ you are, but your father would demand heads if he was aware his daughter was cavorting with my son!” The Whitehill girl bowed her head even lower. Asher fidgeted in place.

“Father-”

“And _you,_ of all the girls in the Deepwood, of all the girls in all of the seven bloody kingdoms, you choose this one. Do you wish to bring us into war?” His hands clenched into white knuckled fists, shaking. He couldn’t believe it. His son with a Whitehill. The word ‘traitor’ hung on his tongue, but the taste of shame at the thought burned his mouth instead. Asher was his boy, a light in his heart.

But this revelation was… disappointing to say the least.

“My Lord,” the girl spoke at just above a whisper while still averting her gaze, “your son and I mean no harm. We are not- We are merely friends.”

Asher glanced at her. Lord Forrester narrowed his eyes at the sight of the two reckless children.

“Elissa, please escort our son from the room. I’d like a word with the lady Whitehill before we return her to Highpoint,” he ordered, his focus on them unwavering. Lady Forrester gently squeezed her husband’s arm, then motioned for her secondborn to follow. Asher’s pleading expression did little to dissuade his father. He waited until the room consisted of only he, Ludd’s girl, and his guards before speaking.

“I am sending you back to your father, and you are never to meet or speak another word to Asher.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she answered.

“What is your name?”

Her eyes flitted around, “Gwyn, my Lord.”

“Gwyn Whitehill, may we never see you again, for the sake of my house, and the sake of my foolish son.” He called for a guard to take her home, but the look she gave as she was led away with eyes so sharp and daring told him that this issue was far from over.

“It’s not the fair-haired maidens he fancies, my Lord,” she said.

  


\--- Talia ---

The air crackled, and her heart raced in her chest. Talia gripped her twin’s arm with enough strength to discomfort him, but he too was struck silent. They hid in the shadows of the entrance to the hall, but the thunderous shouts and bellows were heard throughout the castle.

In the center of the room, Ludd Whitehill was nearly at blows with their father. A dozen Whitehill men stood at attention behind their lord while Lord Forrester had Lady Forrester at his left, Ser Royland and Castellan Duncan on his right. And behind him was Asher standing defiant, but the way his hands clenched at his sides spoke otherwise of his inner will.

The words _barbaric, idiocy,_ and _defiler_ were thrown about. Her father did not receive them kindly, and her mother’s soft hand barely calmed him. Ser Royland fared no better at reining his indignation, diplomacy was simply not his way. Duncan, however, learned quickly that Lord Whitehill was a stranger to peaceful negotiation as well.

“They say Asher had been seeing Whitehill’s daughter,” Ethan whispered. Talia leaned closer to her brother. She thought she knew about love and courtship and romance, but real life was so much crueler than in the stories. Her father and Lord Whitehill’s voices boomed as they spat at each other. Ironrath lurched on the edge of disaster. She was so anxious, she almost expected blood to be spilled that night.

Then, the mention of exile, and the great hall was in uproar.

“They can’t be serious! Ethan?!” Talia gasped. Her heart jumped into her ears and drowned out the clamor from the hall. Her twin remained still, shocked into silence. Moments passed before he turned to her with an equally appalled expression.

“This conversation is not for our ears, little swallows,” Rodrik appeared behind them with a soft voice, “Let’s return to our beds.” Talia had never seen such sorrow on her oldest brother’s face. He herded them away, but Mira, who had arrived with him, stayed behind.

Talia’s heart broke with each step. Her sister’s eyes glistened with unfallen tears as she gazed into the great hall, her hands clasped together. Ethan held his twin’s wrist tight enough to hurt her.

  


\--- Asher ---

He was to leave at dawn, exiled from his own home, banished from his own family.

He looked upon his father expecting to see anger or shame, but what festered in his eyes was sadness. Perhaps regret lingered there as well, but Asher denied himself that hope.

 _My son,_ he said.

His mother wept loudly and openly, holding him close as if to crush him. But her pure love cut him deepest inside. He was taking away a piece of her heart. Her child. He will miss her.

 _My boy,_ she cried.

Rodrik stood before him and grasped his shoulders. He swallowed whatever hitch in breath was coming, and hugged him. They had not embraced in years.

 _My little brother,_ he declared.

Ethan held Asher’s palm up and placed an intricately carved tree in the shape of the Forrester sigil in his hand. It had taken him weeks, long hours deep into the night. Though it was already highly detailed and exquisite, he deemed it unfinished still.

 _My finest work,_ he claimed.

Talia showed him piles of papers all filled with music and lyrics. The parchment sung the stories of the Forrester house, its fortitude, its pride, its love. She presented him with all of her writings and wept into his chest, the few pages still in her hand smearing from the tears.

 _My songs,_ she whispered.

He sat with Ryon on the floor of his room. His youngest brother lamented that he had yet to learn how to beat him in Riverbed Stones. Asher promised him that he will return, and by then, Ryon would be experienced enough that it will be his turn to ask him for advice. The boy’s little hands held up a small pouch with a golden tassel.

 _My pieces,_ he offered.

Books with secreted notes, his first blade, lucky coins that he had collected, they all went into a large trunk destined for Essos. He was in the process of adding a worn coat when she arrived at the entrance to his room. Her light steps stopped just outside the frame. He hesitated to look over his shoulder, but only when he did would she finally walk inside. The door closed, and they were alone.

Tears clouded her eyes, but a ferocity burned behind them. He stood slowly and stepped over to her, second by second, creak by creak of the groaning floor. And when he was so close he could see the pink tinge of her cheeks and the hint of teeth peeking from her slightly parted lips, she uttered the first word between them. _Why?_

His arms wrapped around her, and though she did not back away, her hands fisted on his collar and tugged neither here nor there. _Why?_ she repeated, again and again. She cried on his chest, cried from down in her lungs and heart. He held her tight as that was all he could do. And when the sobs ceased to shake her, she peered up at him, desperate and mournful.

He wiped the trail from one side of her now red face, then tangled his hand in her hair. Her forehead was warm on his.

 _I’m sorry,_ his lips barely grazing hers. Her hands gripped tighter, pushed against him when his mouth descended upon her. But his hand at her lower back remained firm, and the other behind her head drew her even closer. Her lips, so soft and sweet. She whimpered. He was lost.

When they separated, she turned from him. His cheek rested by her temple, and tears not his own fell anew on his shirt.

 _Asher,_ she breathed.

  


\--- Gared ---

His lord was a phantom of a man, nothing but a wisp of air. His face gaunt and eyes hollow, all of Ironrath witnessed his descent. The castle now housed only five Forrester children, and their father appeared to have left his spirit in the hands of the sixth.

“My Lord,” Duncan Tuttle spoke. Lord Forrester ignored the castellan when he entered. He was like a wax figure melting just so slowly under a flickering flame.

“Report,” he uttered.

Duncan cleared his throat, “A young man matching his description indeed frequented the whores there.”

“And?”

Gared watched his uncle shift from one foot to the other. Lord Forrester waited patiently with a stony face carved by grief.

“And there was the girl that claimed to receive the most visits.”

“Don't just stand there dumbly, tell me!” Gared glanced between his lord and his uncle. He had only witnessed Lord Forrester shout once before.

“She… eh, she was a voluptuous one, with auburn hair and plump teats.”

Gared stared at his uncle as he lied through his teeth. He had accompanied him to the whorehouse, listened to him question the madame, and watched him inspect the women.

Asher had visited, yes, the madame said. And when the girl that he hired sauntered out for Uncle Duncan's perusal, Gared held in his shock at the woman's long black hair and striking, light eyes.

Standing now before their lord, Gared and the castellan knew the secondborn’s secret.

And by the way Lord Gregor Forrester’s grimace deepened and his hand rose to his face, he knew too.

  


\--- Beskha ---

Her armor was caked with blood, most of it drying quickly. She went through the motions of cleaning her blades and barely wiped at her clothes. Next to her, a Westerosi handled a considerable bag of gold, enjoying the weight in his hands.

Asher took out a Yunkish coin and admired its shine in the light. Oddly enough, he pocketed the single piece and went back to marveling at the rest of the bag.

“Whores are priced higher than that, little brother,” Beskha smirked.

Her partner showed a flash of hesitation, usually unheard of from him, then a far away smile at nothing in particular.

“Sending it home?” She sheathed her weapons.

“For a girl,” he said.


End file.
